


Silken Legs & Lacy Knickers

by xmoomzix



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Sherlock in Lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmoomzix/pseuds/xmoomzix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock loves stockings. He loves how they feel, like molten silk against his skin, soft and delicate to the touch...</p>
<p>No one had touched Sherlock before. He rarely touched himself. The only time he wasn’t repulsed by himself was when he wore lingerie. Now John had seen him, seen his secret and was touching him and oh.. It feels wonderful!</p>
<p>(Written from a drabble prompt for tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silken Legs & Lacy Knickers

Sherlock forgets that John is working an earlier shift. He has neglected to remember that John will be home just after two o'clock. He doesn’t mean for John to catch him. He was just relaxing on his bed after a shower, wearing nothing but a towel and absently running a hand up and down his thigh, fighting the urge to indulge in one of his most secret pleasures. The fight was futile of course. So now Sherlock gets up, allowing his towel to drop to the floor while he reaches into the back of his sock drawer, his fingers meeting silk.

It’s a crimson silk parcel, held together by a black ribbon, which he sets down on the bed and unties with delicacy. The material falls open to reveal the secrets within and his fingers linger over the items, lip caught between his teeth. It takes all of 0.37 seconds to make up his mind and so he perches himself primly on the edge of the bed and lifts the first item from the bundle, unrolling the stockings one at a time, allowing the softness to ghost his fingers. He then raises a leg, daintily points his toe and slides his foot into the first one, rolling it slowly up his leg. He is careful to adjust it until there are no creases present and so that the band of lace sits snugly around his thigh. The process is repeated with the second and catching his reflection in the full length mirror he indulged in, blushes.

Sherlock loves stockings. He loves how they feel, like molten silk against his skin, soft and delicate to the touch. He loves how they look, the lace band resting just a few inches below the curve of his arse and how the darker colour contrasts with the paleness of his thigh. He wriggles his toes and allows himself a small, secret grin.

The second item is then retrieved, a pair of black panties. The small garment is lace except for the very front where a triangle of silk is outlined by ribbon embellishments. The back is shaped slightly by tight stitching that creates a ruched effect. When Sherlcok slides these on, they rest serenely on hips, the back pulled enough to give an enticing view of the rounded cheeks of his arse. The front is snug and a little constricting but the silk feels good against the heat of his flesh. Another lip bite.

Sherlock is shameless but this is something private. He enjoys wearing these two pieces of lingerie. They make himself feel.. sexy. He runs a hand up his legs and hums softly when his fingers leave lace and meet bare skin and his cock gives an appreciative twitch, already filling out to half-hardness. He lays back on the bed, propped up by pillows and spreads his legs, pointing his toes and stretches out. The view is rather lovely. His bare stomach with the sparse hair trailing down to where the silk material of his panties pull taut over his growing erection, the paleness of his thighs and then the elegance of the stockings that cling to the contours of his legs. Like this, he doesn’t mind touching himself.

His fingers dance against the covered head of his cock, barely applying any pressure at all as they continue down the outline of his shaft. The softest of sighs leaves his lips.

Then John walks in.

“Sherlock I thought you were getting the mil - oh, ah..”

The words perish on Johns lips, a silent gasp born in their place. Sherlock is frozen, his expression unreadable. He makes no move to remove his hand or cover himself up, even as heat begins to crawl up his neck and into his cheeks. John just stares and unconsciously licks his lips.

Sherlock can see the mans brain working overtime, can almost hear the gears grinding. He can tell John is trying to make a decision. To stay or flee. The signs are all there, weight shifting from foot to the other, hands clenching and unclenching, accelerated heatbeat…

Decision seemingly made, John steps towards Sherlock, nerves twisting his belly and prickling at his skin. There’s a gleam in his eyes though that contradict his anxiety and once close enough, he climbs onto the bed and reaches out, tentatively placing a hand on Sherlock’s knee. For a few, long moments, John simply stares at his own hand, a knot forming between his brows as he fully comprehends the situation he had just walked into. He clears his throat and lifts his eyes to Sherlock’s.

“This… These…” Why does his tongue suddenly feel like lead? He settles with, “You look good.”

In response, Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat, his next words coming out in a whisper. “Do you really think so?”

John doesn’t reply, and instead slides his hand up along Sherlock’s thigh. His fingers trace the lace band, much like Sherlock’s had before, following the slightly raised pattern until it meets skin. An ache begins to settle between Sherlock’s leg, the close proximity making his cock throb.

“John…” The name comes out breathlessly. John looks at him and Sherlock can see how the mans eyes have darkened, appearing glazed. Sherlock is not wrong about a lot of things and he hopes he is reading this right. “You can touch me if you want.”

There’s a fleeting few seconds of panic as John doesn’t respond. Perhaps he’s come to his senses. Perhaps he’ll be disgusted and leave. Just as those ugly thoughts surface, and the beginnings of tears sting his eyes, Sherlock shudders as in that moment, John has both his hands on the inside of his thighs and his coaxing them open. Their eyes meet.

“I’m not going anywhere you silly git. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to touch you.” John’s gaze is intense as he shuffles to position himself between Sherlock’s spread legs, stroking his thighs and edging up to tease one of the ribbons on his panties. “These are a bonus of course.” He smirks and finally palms Sherlock through the material, pressing into his cock and moving in circular motions. Sherlock grunts and lifts his hips, throwing his head back against the pillows to reveal an enticing throat which John moves up to nip at.

No one had touched Sherlock before. He rarely touched himself. The only time he wasn’t repulsed by himself was when he wore lingerie. Now John had seen him, seen his secret and was touching him and oh.. It feels wonderful!

“That’s it love, I’ve got you.”

Johns words only serve to add to the intensity of it all and there’s shuffling and more wet kisses on his stomach and “Nnnnh!” Something warm and wet slides against his cock through the material and Sherlock looks down, shocked to see that John’s head is now between his legs and his tongue is dragging up the length of where his cock pushes against the silk. The action is repeated and Sherlock feels like his body has caught fire, tight and hot. Where Johns tongue goes, it leaves a darker patch of material and now he’s pulling away and tugging at the waistband.

It’s almost too much but Sherlock lifts his hips to aid the removal. John is relentless. Sherlock can’t help the startled gasp when John licks him again. He groans, fingers twisting in the sheets and jerking his hips. Then the head of his cock is engulfed in warmth, John’s hands stroking up and down his legs as he sucks his cock. He hums around it, flattens his tongue and shifts to hook Sherlock’s calves, hoisting them up until they rest on his shoulders. Sherlocks head falls back and he makes the loudest, lewdest sound Johns ever heard. Sherlock could come just from the sight of his own stocking-clad legs hovering in the air and Johns head bobbing between his thighs, the man glancing up at him from time to time with a look at that can only be described as sinful.

“Oh god, John..”

John keeps a grip on his legs, keeping them spread as he swallows around his cock, holding him at the back of his throat for a few seconds then pulling away, only to repeat the process. Another groan tears from Sherlock, the balls of his feet pressing hard into John’s back, his thighs quivering. It takes Sherlock an embarrassingly long time to realise when John has let go of one of his legs. It’s only when the muffled sounds around his cock become more frequent that he realises, with a flush of pleasure, that John is stroking himself as he sucks. The thought alone brings Sherlock right to the edge, lips forming silent words as he arches, body becoming rigid as he comes hard in John’s mouth, suddenly finding his voice in time for a string of moans to escape.

He would be apologetic for giving no advanced warning but if the speed of John’s hand is anything to go by, and the eagerness in which he swallows, Sherlock is sure John doesn’t mind. John releases Sherlock’s cock and treats his flatmate to a little show. The sight of Sherlock covered in a light sheen of sweat, flushed and spread out in those dark stockings in enough to finish John off. He comes into his hand with a little whine, hips jerking erratically as his body sings.

The two are silent for a few minutes after that but the unanswered questions of where they go from here is a screaming presence. They would later question how they both knew but Sherlock simply asks, ‘Do you…?“ Answered by a breathy, “Oh god yes.”


End file.
